refining。 She caused the separateness and individuality of all
the Marsh inmates； the friability of the household。
When young Tom Brangwen was twenty…three years old there was
some breach between him and his chief which was never explained；
and he went away to Italy； then to America。 He came home for a
while； then went to Germany； always the same good…looking；
carefully…dressed； attractive young man； in perfect health； yet
somehow outside of everything。 In his dark eyes was a deep
misery which he wore with the same ease and pleasantness as he
wore his close…sitting clothes。
To Ursula he was a romantic； alluring figure。 He had a grace
of bringing beautiful presents： a box of expensive sweets； such
as Cossethay had never seen； or he gave her a hair…brush and a
long slim mirror of mother…of…pearl； all pale and glimmering and
exquisite； or he sent her a little necklace of rough stones；
amethyst and opal and brilliants and garnet。 He spoke other
languages easily and fluently； his nature was curiously gracious
and insinuating。 With all that； he was undefinably an outsider。
He belonged to nowhere； to no society。
Anna Brangwen had left her intimacy with her father
undeveloped since the time of her marriage。 At her marriage it
had been abandoned。 He and she had drawn a reserve between them。
Anna went more to her mother。
Then suddenly the father died。
It happened one springtime when Ursula was about eight years
old； he； Tom Brangwen； drove off on a Saturday morning to the
market in Nottingham； saying he might not be back till late； as
there was a special show and then a meeting he had to attend。
His family understood that he would enjoy himself。
The season had been rainy and dreary。 In the evening it was
pouring with rain。 Fred Brangwen； unsettled； uneasy； did not go
out； as was his wont。 He smoked and read and fidgeted； hearing
always the trickling of water outside。 This wet； black night
seemed to cut him off and make him unsettled； aware of himself；
aware that he wanted something else； aware that he was scarcely
living。 There seemed to him to be no root to his life； no place
for him to get satisfied in。 He dreamed of going abroad。 But his
instinct knew that change of place would not solve his problem。
He wanted change； deep； vital change of living。 And he did not
know how to get it。
Tilly； an old woman now； came in saying that the labourers
who had been suppering up said the yard and everywhere was just
a slew of water。 He heard in indifference。 But he hated a
desolate； raw wetness in the world。 He would leave the
Marsh。
His mother was in bed。 At last he shut his book； his mind was
blank； he walked upstairs intoxicated with depression and anger；
and； intoxicated with depression and anger； locked himself into
sleep。
Tilly set slippers before the kitchen fire； and she also went
to bed； leaving the door unlocked。 Then the farm was in
darkness； in the rain。
At eleven o'clock it was still raining。 Tom Brangwen stood in
the yard of the 〃Angel〃； Nottingham； and buttoned his coat。
〃Oh； well；〃 he said cheerfully； 〃it's rained on me before。
Put 'er in； Jack； my lad； put her in……Tha'rt a rare old
cock； Jacky…boy； wi' a belly on thee as does credit to thy
drink； if not to thy corn。 Co' up lass； let's get off ter th'
old homestead。 Oh； my heart； what a wetness in the night！
There'll be no volcanoes after this。 Hey； Jack； my beautiful
young slender feller； which of us is Noah？ It seems as though
the water…works is bursted。 Ducks and ayquatic fowl 'll be king
o' the castle at this rate……dove an' olive branch an' all。
Stand up then； gel； stand up； we're not stoppin' here all night；
even if you thought we was。 I'm dashed if the jumping rain
wouldn't make anybody think they was drunk。 Hey； Jack……does
rain…water wash the sense in； or does it wash it out？〃 And he
laughed to himself at the joke。
He was always ashamed when he had to drive after he had been
drinking； always apologetic to the horse。 His apologetic frame
made him facetious。 He was aware of his inability to walk quite
straight。 Nevertheless his will kept stiff and attentive； in all
his fuddleness。
He mounted and bowled off through the gates of the innyard。
The mare went well； he sat fixed； the rain beating on his face。
His heavy body rode motionless in a kind of sleep； one centre of
attention was kept fitfully burning； the rest was dark。 He
concentrated his last attention on the fact of driving along the
road he knew so well。 He knew it so well； he watched for it
attentively； with an effort of will。
He talked aloud to himself； sententious in his anxiety； as if
he were perfectly sober； whilst the mare bowled along and the
rain beat on him。 He watched the rain before the gig…lamps； the
faint gleaming of the shadowy horse's body； the passing of the
dark hedges。
〃It's not a fit night to turn a dog out；〃 he said to himself；
aloud。 〃It's high time as it did a bit of clearing up； I'll be
damned if it isn't。 It was a lot of use putting those ten loads
of cinders on th' road。 They'll be washed to kingdom…e if it
doesn't alter。 Well； it's our Fred's look…out； if they are。 He's
top…sawyer as far as those things go。 I don't see why I should
concern myself。 They can wash to kingdom…e and back again for
what I care。 I suppose they would be washed back again some day。
That's how things are。 Th' rain tumbles down just to mount up in
clouds again。 So they say。 There's no more water on the earth
than there was in the year naught。 That's the story； my boy； if
you understand it。 There's no more to…day than there was a
thousand years ago……nor no less either。 You can't wear
water out。 No； my boy： it'll give you the go…by。 Try to wear it
out； and it takes its hook into vapour； it has its fingers at
its nose to you。 It turns into cloud and falleth as rain on the
just and unjust。 I wonder if I'm the just or the unjust。〃
He started awake as the trap lurched deep into a rut。 And he
wakened to the point in his journey。 He had travelled some
distance since he was last conscious。
But at length he reached the gate； and stumbled heavily down；
reeling； gripping fast to the trap。 He descended into several
inches of water。
〃Be damned！〃 he said angrily。 〃Be damned to the miserable
slop。〃
And he led the horse washing through the gate。 He was quite
drunk now； moving blindly； in habit。 Everywhere there was water
underfoot。
The raised causeway of the house and the farm…stead was dry；
however。 But there was a curious roar in the night which seemed
to be made in the darkness of his own intoxication。 Reeling；
blinded； almost without consciousness he carried his parcels and
the rug and cushions into the house； dropped them； and went out
to put up the horse。
Now he was at home； he was a sleep…walker； waiting only for
the moment of activity to stop。 Very deliberately and carefully；
he led the horse down the slope to the cart…shed。 She shied and
backed。
〃Why； wha's amiss？〃 he hiccupped； plodding steadily on。 And
he was again in a wash of water； the horse splashed up water as
he went。 It was thickly dark； save for the gig…lamps； and they
lit on a rippling surface of water。
〃Well； that's a knock…out；〃 he said； as he came to the
cart…shed； and was wading in six inches of water。 But everything
seemed to him amusing。 He laughed to think of six inches of
water being in the cart…shed。
He backed in the mare。 She was restive。 He laughed at the fun
of untackling the mare with a lot of water washing round his
feet。 He laughed because it upset her。 〃What's amiss； what's
amiss； a drop o' water won't hurt you！〃 As soon as he had undone
the traces； she walked quickly away。
He hung up the shafts and took the gig…lamp。 As he came out
of the familiar jumble of shafts and wheels in the shed； the
water； in little waves； came washing strongly against his legs。
He staggered and almost fell。
〃Well； what the deuce！〃 he said； staring round at the running
water in the black； watery night。
He went to meet the running flood； sinking deeper and deeper。
His soul was full of great astonishment。 He had to go and
look where it came from； though the ground was going from under
his feet。 He went on； down towards the pond； shakily。 He rather
enjoyed it。 He was knee…deep； and the water was pulling heavily。
He stumbled； reeled sickeningly。
Fear took hold of him。 Gripping tightly to the lamp； he
reeled； and looked round。 The water was carrying his feet away；
he was dizzy。 He did not know which way to turn。 The water was
whirling； whirling； the whole black night was swooping in rings。
He swayed uncertainly at the centre of all the attack； reeling
in dismay。 In his soul； he knew he would fall。
As he staggered something in the water struck his legs； and
he fell。 Instantly he was in the turmoil of suffocation。 He
fought in a black horror of suffocation； fighting； wrestling；
but always borne down； borne inevitably down。 Still he wrestled
and fought to get himself free； in the unutterable struggle of
suffocation； but he always fell again deeper。 Something struck
his head； a great wonder of anguish went over him； then the
blackness covered him entirely。
In the utter darkness； the unconscious； drowning body was
rolled along； the waters pouring； washing； filling in the place。
The cattle woke up and rose to their feet； the dog began to
yelp。 And the unconscious； drowning body was washed along in the
black； swirling darkness； passively。
Mrs。 Brangwen woke up and listened。 With preternaturally
sharp senses she heard the movement of all the darkness that
swirled outside。 For a moment she lay still。 Then she went to
the window。 She heard the sharp rain； and the deep running of
water。 She knew her husband was outside。
〃Fred；〃 she called； 〃Fred！〃
Away in the night was a hoarse； brutal roar of a mass of
water rushing downwards。
She went downstairs。 She could not understand the multiplied
running of water。 Stepping down the step into the kitchen； she
put her foot into water。 The kitchen was flooded。 Where did it
e from？ She could not understand。
Water was running in out of the scullery。 She paddled through
barefoot； to see。 Water was bubbling fiercely under the outer
door。 She was afraid。 Then something washed against her；
something twined under her foot。 It was the riding whip。 On the
table were the rug and the cushion and the parcel from the
gig。
He had e home。
〃Tom！〃 she called； afraid of her own voice。
She opened the door。 Water ran in with a horrid sound。
Everywhere was moving water； a sound of waters。
〃Tom！〃 she cried； standing in her nightdress with the candle；
calling into the darkness and the flood out of the doorway。
〃Tom！ Tom！〃
And she listened。 Fred appeared behind her； in trousers and
shirt。
〃Where is he？〃 he asked。
He looked at the flood； then at his mother。 She seemed small
and uncanny； elvish； in her nightdress。
〃Go upstairs；〃 he said。 〃He'll be in th' stable。〃
〃To……om！ To……om！〃 cried the elderly woman； with a
long； unnatural； penetrating call that chilled her son to the
marrow。 He quickly pulled on his boots and his coat。
〃Go upstairs； mother；〃 he said； 〃I'll go an' see where he
is。〃
〃To……om！ To……o……om！〃 ra